Trouble Meets Trouble: Broken Noses and Aching Craniums
by IrishFrenchy
Summary: 1st fic in my Jeeves series. It's from third person, by the way. If you were to go by the telly's timeline, it would be during season one. Man, I just adore Stephen Fry. Make sure to read my author's note, please. A pub fight ensues and some things happen. For once, Jeeves needs taking care of. Maybe Bertie won't screw anything up this time. Jooster


**Author's note: Okay, so… I'm writing a series for this, it's called Trouble Meets Trouble. It's going to be oneshots and they'll all be in order and they'll follow a story-line. By the way, it'll eventually be Jooster. If you don't like, don't read.**

It came out of the blue. Tuppy was angry at someone and somehow, some way, a pub fight had ensued. Bertie didn't even see it coming, it happened so fast. He wound up face down on the floor, the wind completely knocked from him, his arms flung about. Jeeves was at his side in a minute, dragging him up from the floor. He helped him over to a table, grumbling under his breath.

Bertie came-to, groaning in pain and rubbing his aching head. "What on earth just happened?" Jeeves quirked a brow at his friend and turned his head towards the chaos that was still occurring around them. He surveyed the wreckage, sighing quietly. "Apparently you hit like a girl," Jeeves said, trying his best to keep in a chuckle.

Bertie frowned then, looking up at his valet and contemplating showing him that he could actually hit like a man. He decided against it, though. Better not hit the one man who constantly, willingly takes care of you, he tells himself. With a pained groan, he gets to his feet. The two of them weave their way through the crowd to get to the door.

Bertie turned around to ask Jeeves something but the man was nowhere to be seen. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a black bowler's cap but it was on the floor. Bertie heard Jeeves say something and he almost nearly got knocked right upside the head again. He moved out of the way, letting two men go tumbling over, grabbing at each other's shirts in an almost comical manner. He saw Jeeves take a nice punch and he frowned, starting in his direction.

"Jeeves," Bertie called. "I say, getting into a pub fight… So unlike you."

The valet frowned deeply, grabbing his hat in an aggravated manner and walking off. "I got caught up in the commotion. It wasn't my fault, sir." That was probably the most emotion Bertie had ever seen the poor man show.

Just as he was walking off, Jeeves got grabbed by someone who had obviously mistaken him and he took a nice punch to the face. "Knobhead," the man grumbled before smoothing out his coat and leaving the pub. Jeeves' hand flew to his nose and he stumbled back a bit, catching himself. "Good lord," he said to himself. He took his handkerchief out and he covered his nose, trying to stop the bleeding.

Bertie took the man's arm, afraid that he might fall over, and they finally left together. The Bobbies were just arriving to break everything up, shouting and hollering things at one another. To be honest, Bertie was more worried about his friend's broken nose than his own aching head. He looked down the block and frowned as he saw some men from the Drone's Club coming outside. He helped Jeeves across the road and they hobbled to the flat together, not caring about the odd looks people gave them.

Jeeves was a bit out of it as they walked to the lift and made their way upstairs. He just wandered behind Bertie and waited for him to unlock his flat door. "You know something?" Bertie said, opening the door and letting him go in first. "I have never seen you do as much movement as you have today." He meant that to be funny but it didn't even get a rise out of the other man. He just fell into a kitchen chair, his handkerchief still covering his nose.

Bertie wandered around the house, finding his way to the bathroom to locate his aspirin. He came back into the kitchen and he gave a couple to Jeeves, as well as keeping a few for himself. He took an ice pack from the ice box for his head and he took a seat across from Jeeves. For once, he wasn't being goofy. He felt bad for Jeeves, even if it was only his nose. Broken noses hurt pretty bad, he knew that all too well.

"Are you alright, Jeeves?" The question caught the valet off guard and he looked over at Mr. Wooster, just nodding his head. "M'jus' fine," he said, his voice muffled by the handkerchief. "No you bloody well aren't," he merely said in reply and he scooted his chair closer. "Tip your head back, Jeeves. Let me take a look at that nose of yours." There was a bit of a horrified look on the valet's face and it tore Bertie's tiny, little heart in two. "Oh, come now… I'm not that much of a ponce. Let me see it. I won't hurt you. I just want to see if it needs to be pushed back into place or something to that affect."

Jeeves sighed as deeply as he possibly could without it hurting his nose more. He tipped his head back, closing his eyes as he took his hanky away. "I'm almost sure that it's fine, sir. I just got hit pretty hard," he said quietly. Bertie stood up, coming over to his friend and looking down at his nose, trying to tell if it was cockeyed at all. It didn't seem out of place to him but then again, he was no doctor. "Stay there," he mumbled and he went off to the bathroom to get a washcloth and some warm water in a tiny basin.

"What are you doing, sir?" There came no reply but he could hear Bertie coming back into the room. He put the water small basin down, dipping the washcloth in it. His voice was quiet as he spoke. "Just stay still, please. I'll clean you up. You clearly can't do it yourself at the moment, so just keep your head back and let me do this. I hardly mind, Jeeves."

He dabbed the cloth on his cheek, starting to wipe up the blood and clean him up a little bit. He figured his nose would have continued to bleed if he tried to clean himself. Besides, he _wanted _to do this. Unbeknownst to everyone, (hopefully Jeeves was on the list as well) he had feelings for the man. It was something he never expected nor wanted to act on but it was there, burning a slow hole into him as time went on.

There were moments, rare but heartbreaking ones, where Bertie would look over to see Jeeves lost in thought, his eyes already on him as if he was thinking about him. Bertie never said anything but oh how he wanted to... Jeeves was a hard man to figure out that way. He kept his emotions bottled up and stored away for no one to see. And besides, Bertie knew it was wrong to be attracted to another man. It was wrong in _every_ sense of the word. He just couldn't help it, though. It was the way he felt.

With a defeated sigh, Bertie finished up dabbing at Jeeves' poor face and he rinsed the washcloth. Who'd have thought your nose could bleed so much? He honestly felt bad for Jeeves. The man let out a couple little sounds but other than that, he didn't complain. "How's that? Is your nose still bleeding, my good man? I'm sorry you took a fist to the face earlier. That's the last thing I expected to happen, honestly." Jeeves sat up, trying not to sniffle or breathe through his nose too much. He watched Bertie put an ice pack to his aching head and he actually smiled a little bit.

"Thank you, sir," he said, his voice hoarse and raspy. He took the aspirin and got up to pour himself a glass of water. "I appreciate what you just did for me, sir. Very much so." It was Bertie's turn to look surprised. He just laughed quietly, replying, "What do you mean? You always take care of me. It's nice that I could finally return the favor. It's nothing. I know I mess up a lot whenever I do things but I just wanted to help. _Thank you_, actually."

That was the first time Jeeves could ever really recall being thanked for anything. All he could do was smile. "It's just my job, sir. I rather enjoy it, anyway." He wandered off to go rinse the small basin out, leaving Bertie to wonder what he had meant by that last bit.


End file.
